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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



MEMORIES OF CUBA 

and Other Poems 
Janan Ewyn 




BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1908 



Copyright, 1908^ by Richard G. Badger 



All rights reserved 



i wo 000)68 KeCtt!Vd«l 

AUG, ^ 29.1 i^oa 

JOPY a. 



T 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A, 



To the beautiful South, and to all 
people and lands who still have time 
for the beauty and poetry of life. 

J.E. 



Contents 

CUBAN SONGS 

Ctego de Avila j 

La Pinturita g 

El Danzon g 

La Habanera lo 

The Little Green Cottage 12 

// 

Fear 2^ 

A View of Life 25 

GoJ^s Watch o'er Tou and Me 26 

LOVE SONGS 

A Love Hymn ^ i 

O Eyes So Blue and Tender 33 

To K. K. P 34 

MONTGOMERY SONGS 

A Love Song oy 

A Toast ^Q 

T he Banjo Boy 40 

Easter Even j.2 

V 

A Song for the Navy 47 

A Sonnet 40 

Ambition ro 



CUBAN SONGS 



CIEGO DE AVILA 

THE isles of the tropic seas are fair; 
For earth and sea and sky are rare 
With radiant color and ardent sun. 
In drowsy languor, one by one, 
The days drift by, all unaware 
Of larger worlds with hurry and care; 
And sigh and smile 
The time beguile 
In lazy sweetness beyond compare. 

O the noons, with their hush and heat, 
With never a breath to say how sweet 
Is the orange flower or the southern rose 
Or the jasmine white, as its stars unclose 
The first soft drops of rain to greet! 
While heaven and earth in silence meet. 

And a dreaming calm, 

Like an eastern balm, 
Quiets the throb of the pulse's beat. 

But 'tis the nights that are Cuba's pride, 
With their thousand stars, and moon like a bride 
Throwing the mist of her wedding veil 
Over the landscape pure and pale. 
The royal palms sway to and fro; 
The night breeze comes from Jucaro 

With the memory 

Of the breath of the sea; 
In the southern sky, the cross hangs low. 

Ctego de Avila, Cuba, 1902. 

9 



10 Memories of Cuba 

LA PINTURITA 



A 



BIT of sky, a bit of sky, 
Glowing in evening splendor, 
A drift of blue and a dash of gold 
And a rose-tint — warm and tender. 



A bit of sky, a southern sky. 
Slowly, surely paling 
Into opal tints of a woman's gem. 
With threads of white lace trailing. 

A southern sky, a Cuban sky, 
A sigh of expectation. 
The evening star comes slowly out 
With beauteous scintillation. 

A Cuban sky, an evening star 

In tropic splendor glowing. 

The first faint curve of a fair young moon 

Her silver circle showing. 

A bit of sky, a star, a moon, 
With perfect beauty calling 
And holding each enraptured sense. 
A hush — then darkness falling. 

Ctego de A Vila, Cuba, igoz. 



Memories of Cuba II 

EL DANZON 

VIVA la Cuba! 
O land of my dreaming, 
Where blue skies are smiling 
And dark eyes are gleaming! 
I sing to fair Cuba 
And, Rosa, to you. 
With the love of my heart — 
jLa estrella eres tu! 

jRosa, Rosita, 
Ah, mi amorita, 
Muy linda, chiquita! 
i Donde eres tu, mi Rosa ? 
jBailanda mariposa, 
Cubanita muy hermosa, 

Rosa, Rosita! 

jViva la Cuba! *j - 

And may her warm beauty 
Call daughters to love her 
And sons to their duty! 
My love and my duty 
I left on her shore 
With sv^eet, dusky Rosa. 

jViva la amor! 

Rosa, Rosita, etc 
Keota, Oklahoma^ 1908. 



12 



Memories of Cuba 



LA HABANERA 




Maria, tender memories come with the strain 
Of this low habanera, and I feel I would fain 
Be in Cuba, with youth and the past once again. 

The night wind seems to breathe through the 

palms, from the sea. 
And this low habanera brings thy dear face to me. 
Lost beyond my recalling, its sweet ministry! 

All dusky is the soft hair, and blown by the wind 
Into tendrils of beauty — fitting frame for tfee 

kind 
Flower-like face, and the blue of the eyes, 

love-enshrined. 



Memories of Cuba 13 

A laddie, I had roamed over lakeside and hill 
Of my fair native highlands, v^^ith no guide 

but my w^ill 
And no love but for Scotland my young heart 

to fill. 

With light step, and as free as the young deer 

that go 
Through the green shade and sunshine, did 

my heart ever know 
Any shadow, or fear any future that fate could 

bestow ? 

Maria, bonny lassie and bride of my dreams, 
Dear old Scotland ne'er saw thee, and the 

southern cross gleams 
Where I met thee and loved thee — and lost 

thee, it seems. 

Maria, how we danced in the perfume and 

light 
To this low habanera! And the day and the 

night 
Came and went but to love thee and woo thee 

a-right. 

Ah, lassie, must I lose thee for ay! The reply 
Of the sad habanera only echoes my cry. 
O my ain wee bit lassie, my love till I die! 

Keota, Oklahoma, 1908. 



14 Memories of Cuba 



THE LITTLE GREEN COTTAGE 

THERE comes a time, in these Indian 
lands, in the month of February, when 
winter sleeps; when a dream of spring 
comes overthe land; when the moon hangs golden 
and full; and when the breeze that comes over 
the southern hills is like the claret of Spain — 
so clear and sweet — and it seems to hold 
within it the intoxicating breath of the sea. 

It is a night to conjure with. I throw wide 
the double doors at both ends of my long hall, 
and the fireshine and the moonshine follow 
each other softly about the room — from piano 
keys to candlesticks, to the old brass andirons, 
to the top of the big round table, and then in 
a confusion of beauty, to the smooth bare 
floor. I draw my low chair to the open door 
and I shut my eyes. It is then that the dream 
comes. 

The breeze that sweeps past me is the fresh 
salt of the Mexican Sea or of the broad Atlantic 
beyond. There is a village, a tiny one, with 
red tiled roofs glooming in the moonlight, 
against a background of royal palms. A blaze 
of light comes down the street from the plaza 
square, and the breeze brings a faint danzon, 
mingled with its perfume of jasmine and laurel. 
From a barred window, as I pass, comes a high 
passionate soprano, upheld by the rhythm of 
the piano's habanera — 



Memories of Cuba 15 

"En Cuba, isla hermosa del ardiente sol," 
and 

"Entre todas las flores, la Reina eres tu." 
I look beyond the houses, beyond the palm- 
leaf huts, to the sweep of the old Spanish trocha, 
and into my soul sinks the beauty of the perfect 
night, and the ever-living charm of this Spanish- 
America wakes again. My heart answers the 
passionate unknown voice. **La Reina eres 
tu! " Ah yes, surely, "La Reina eres tu!'* 

I do not linger in the street nor in the plaza. 
The charming sight is not new to me. In 
every city, town, and village of the little island, 
the same happy gayety goes on. The throb 
and beat of the tropical music, the gay frocks 
and laughing faces, the care-free happiness of 
the Cuban evening, is not a thing to forget. It 
is all pleasant to my loving eyes, but I do not 
linger. I am going to call upon Madame. 

We all called her Madame, in those days; 
and we admired her, or feared her sharp eyes 
and tongue, according to the place and occasion. 
She was very kind to me and I loved her. She 
stood to me for the great old world beyond the 
Atlantic — the beautiful world of my dreams, 
that I might never see. In that world, she, 
the beautiful French woman, had lived her 
life of courts and cities in many a fair land. 

She delighted my feminine fancy with gor- 
geous gowns from Paris, hand-wrought lingerie 
from the deft fingers of the French nuns, and 
with long soft sables from Russia. 



l6 Memories of Cuba 

Her rooms were my delight. Some of them 
were piled with trunks and chests, but the 
large living-room was filled with curious and 
lovely things. Rarely beautiful embroideries 
and china and silver filigree from Shanghai, and 
from the neighboring islands of Japan; fans and 
inlaid tables and priceless draperies from 
European cities — all were there; and music 
and laughter and conversation and song from 
the whole, wide wonderful world. I was 
young, then, and I loved it all. I love it all 
to-day, for I am still young. "Those whom 
the gods love, die young, no matter how long 
they live,** says our Fra Elbertus. 

We were all strangers to the little village, 
we who gathered in her rooms. Some of us 
were from the United States, some from Canada, 
some from England, Scotland, Spain, or the 
islands of the sea. We were in this village for 
many and varied reasons, but we all belonged to 
the "headquarters** of the Company. What 
Company, or for what purpose, matters not. My 
husband was one of the Company*s men as 
was Madame*s son; and it was to be with this 
loved and only son that Madame braved the 
ennui of a Cuban village. And my husband 
and I ? We were there because the opportunity 
offered, and we wished to go. Youth needs 
no excuse for going. 



Memories of Cuba ij 

So I call upon Madame, and I look into the 
proud face with its crown of silver hair, seek- 
ing the kindly smile that is ever for me; imagin- 
ing, with happiest fancy, her great beauty 
when the silver hair was auburn and the still 
lovely eyes held the blue fire of youthful spirit. 
She tells me again the tales of her far-off world, 
and I listen, bound in the spell of their fas- 
cination. 

As I listen, comes another picture. I see a 
southern town, my old home town; I walk its 
streets with my lover-husband, and I tell him, 
passionately, what my life shall be. A little 
home in some new southwestern town ? No, 
no! My whole nature rises in revolt. The 
thought of the trivial existence catches my 
heart with dread. Surely, that is not for me. 
A little home-making, a little needlework, a 
little calling upon one's friends, some enter- 
taining and being entertained, will tell away 
the wasted opportunities of a woman's life. 
The sight of such towns, as I had caught from 
the vantage ground of a rapidly moving train, 
had been far from inspiring. So when the 
tender face looks down into mine, upturned, 
and the kind voice that I know so well says 
gently, "Then what do you want to do. Sweet- 
heart?"; I return the look with a rueful smile, 
but answer firmly, nevertheless, "Indeed, 
I do not know, but not that! Oh, not that!" 



l8 Memories of Cuba 

And now I look at Madame, after her life- 
time spent in living my dreams, amid the scenes 
for which I long — not for the gowns and courts 
do I yearn so wistfully, although they are en- 
ticing in their way; but for the setting of splendid 
cities with their culture of ancient learning, 
with their treasuries of pictures and architec- 
ture, each added beauty broadening the mental 
horizon until all that is selfish and provincial 
shall fade away, until I am no longer only a 
Southerner, only an American, but a World's 
woman. 

Madame has been a very happy woman, she 
is happy to-day, and her life is bright before her. 
But I begin to see, dimly, that her life is not 
for me; for, in it, there is no abiding place. 
France is not her home, although it holds the 
homes and history of her kindred; Spain is 
not her home, although within it lie the honored 
statesmen who have left their legacy of intellect, 
position and courtly courtesy to the General, 
her husband; nor are the cities nor the courts 
her home, although in them she has shone so 
brilliantly and well. 

I realize in one flash of wisdom that, for me 
and my race, it is the home first and then the 
world. I know that man is, in truth, "a land 
animal,'* and that while he is young must he 
send down those vigorous roots into the soil 
of his own land that will hold him upright 
through the buffet of all life-winds; or that will 



Memories of Cuba 19 

make green and generous the flowering of his 
nature, under whatsoever sun of prosperity 
and plenty. He must build his home in his 
youth. No money can buy it in after years. 
It must grow with his growth and broaden with 
his life. It must be built upon the traditions 
of his family and contain the memories and 
loved belongings of his grandsires. And as 
the years go by, may the old furniture grow 
still more old, and may the floors be worn with 
the coming of those he loves, until the happiness 
of such a home shall overflow into the lives of 
those who greet him. Then is he ready for 
the beauties that the great world holds for him. 

Many may have both; but I, perchance, 
may have only one. And my dream is sweet 
with the light of our undertaking as, like the 
happy birds, we plan to build our nest in the 
springtime. 

So we built the little green cottage among 
the forest trees in this new land which is a 
part of our home land. On a hill, overlooking 
a wide green valley, it stands almost unnoticed 
behind its screen of trees, and its plain square 
sides give small promise of the abundance of 
roomy comfort within. It is true, that the 
veranda has a hospitable air, most inviting, 
but you must not wait outside. The long 
hall holds out its arms to you, as you enter, 
begging that you rest in its cool shadow, if 
the day be warm; or if winter be king, bidding 



20 Memories of Cuba 

you to a shelter before the warmth and cheer 
of its great log fire. The books and pictures 
bid you to remain and the loved piano still 
hums softly the last tender notes of a Chopin 
Etude, for your greeting. Perhaps the big 
black hound will rise with slow courtesy from 
his rug in front of the fire; and faces, that re- 
flect the contentment of happy hearts, will 
smile a hearty and a lasting welcome. 

The dream is, at last, a sweet reality and as 
we look into each other's eyes — my lover- 
husband and I — we pray that those who 
enter may wish to stay and enjoy, with us, 
the quiet happiness that needs no seeking and 
the peace that finds its birth in harmony. 

A single memory will come of one who did 
not wish to stay and whose parting words have 
called up many a smile for those who live in 
the little green cottage. "How can you live 
here on the edge of the world and bury your- 
selves forever?" she said. How much, how 
very much she had to learn! The world shut 
out ? How could it be so, with magazines 
and papers piled upon my tables; with rows 
of friends in their comfortable bindings, stand- 
ing upon my library shelves; and each one in 
our small circle bringing a bit of the outside 
world to the cottage ? Each one, in his turn, 
goes into the big working world, taking with 
him the talent that has fallen to his share and 



Memories of Cuba 21 

there he doubles and trebles it, if it may be, 
and brings it home for the pleasure and the 
profit of all. Thus each year the little green 
cottage reaches outward and upward and each 
year it is a step nearer its ideal. 

After the happy work of each day is over, 
a charmed company meet in this long hall; 
and as the fragrant coffee sends out its invi- 
tation, the care of the day is forgotten, and 
wit and laughter and music make my world, 
not narrow, but broad and bright. It is not 
the point upon which I stand that makes my 
life poor and narrow, but the circumference of 
the circle with which I bound my life. 

But there still comes a time in the month 
of February, when the dream of spring is upon 
the land, and the moon hangs golden and full, 
that the breeze from across the valley seems 
to bring me the breath of the sea. And my 
real world fades with the twilight and I sit in 
my low chair and dream of what has been, 
and what may still be in the beautiful far-off 
world for me. 

Indian Territory, 1 907. 



II 



FEAR 

" No, let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers. 
The heroes of old." 

Robert Browning. 

FEAR life ? To know that the battle is on 
And shrink from the fray, 
To be given the chance, and ere it be 
gone 
To turn cowardly away .? 
Niggard in effort, nor strive to attain 

When the spirit shall quail; 
Counting the cost to the heart and the brain 

When the trial shall fail; 
Fainting and weak, in despair sinking down 

In the noon of life's pain! 
The evening of life, my success shall yet crown. 

Up, and at it again! 
The darkness may gather and failure be sure 

With its bitter and sting. 
I still need no hope of success for a lure. 
The battle's the thing! 

Fear truth ? to live with my heart in the past. 

My mind in a mist, 
Clinging to memories, sweet as the hurt 

That a mother has kissed ? 
Never to think — to know what I know — 

To feel what I feel — 
Crushed by a crude superstition, lies low 

Under its heel! 

25 



26 Memories of Cuba 

Never to burgeon and never to bloom 

In freedom and light, 
Always to feel myself breathless for room, 

Groping in night, 
Haunted by ghosts of a fear and a grief 

That will not be laid, 
Tied to the corpse of a dead belief 

That my fathers have made! 

Stripped of my faiths and my hopes, I shall 
cleave 

To truth in its might. 
Truth, I will have it, whatever I leave 

In the thick of the fight! 
Eagerly seeking, I take to the open road 

And the day; 
Knowing that whatever is, has been, 

And shall be alway. 
On the open road, with my brothers, I go 

And we laugh and sing; 
For truth is truth, though it's little we know. 

The battle's the thing. 

Keota, Oklahoma, 1908. 



Memories of Cuba 27 

A VIEW OF LIFE 

" Dwell up there in the simple and noble regions of 

thy life." 

— Emerson. 

PEACE be to thee forever, O my soul! 
No more shall hurt or sadness be thy 
meed. 
No more has earth the power to rob 
thy state 
Of aught that to thy birthright dost belong 
Of kingly pomp or royal sovranty. 
Supreme thou art. Thy kingdom hath arrived 
And thou hast naught to do but enter in. 
Joy to the world, the Lord has come indeed! 
This day is thy emancipation day. 
Slave to the senses, thou art bond no more; 
But free. Thy freedom is thy crown. 
The secret of eternal happiness 
Is thine. Its only source thou hast perceived. 
Ah, Soul, thou art divine — the breath of God! 
Now, to thy God return and be at rest; 
And, even now, that heaven is thine for which, 
In vain, thou hast sought: for there is naught to 

do. 
Rest softly; and, content within the arms 
Of God, the Love, the mighty "Over-soul," 
All that is low and old shall pass away. 
Behold! 'T is thus He maketh all things new! 
Peace be to thee forever, O my Soul! 

Forest Dale, Burlington^ Iowa, 1 903. 



28 Memories of Cuba 

GOD'S WATCH O'ER YOU AND ME 

GOD'S watch o'er you and me is in 
the skies, 
When comes to drowsy night the 
dawn's first thrill; 
And, when along the west the daylight dies 
And stars come out, his watch is with us still. 

God's watch o'er you and me is in the breeze 
That whispers from the south when skies are 

fair. 
And when the north wind bends the mighty 

trees 
And howls along the waste, His watch is there. 

God's watch o'er you and me is in the flowers 
When, in His smile, they grace each sunny day; 
But when the earth is bare and dreary hours 
Are long, he has not turned His face away. 

God's watch o'er you and me is in the heart; 
For heaven is within and God is there. 
So overshadowed, so of Love a part, 
How can we be without His tender care! 

We look not darkly through a glass; but, sure 
That God is good, that we shall ever be 
His own creation — ever fair and pure — 
We know God watches over you and me. 



Memories of Cuba 29 

We cannot say with prophet and with priest, 
"Behold, our God is here! Lo, He is there!" 
For there shall be no greatest and no least 
When we can know that God is everywhere. 

Montgomery, Alabama, 1 90 1. 



LOVE SONGS 



A LOVE HYMN 

BEFORE I knew what it might mean to 
me 
To love you as I do, and in return, 
To have the constant watch of your dear 
eyes, 
Your tender care, that makes my life with you 
A dream of beauty and a thing ideal; 
I thought my life was happy, and I thought 
My books and music and my girlish dreams, 
My friends, and that sweet spirit who has 

taught 
My girlhood mind to seek in character 
The best that God makes possible to man — 
I thought these were enough to make my days 
A pure delight, and wished for nothing more. 
For what can maidens know or dream of life 
Made perfect by a lofty love like yours ? 
What can they know of the exalted joy 
That comes to woman when she knows and 

feels 
That every throb of the strong heart, whereon 
Her head may rest in sure content and pride, 
Is register of noble thoughts and pure 
Resolves and actions worthy of her love ? 
My husband, I oft wonder why it is 
That God has been so good to you and me. 
My heart is one thanksgiving, and my soul 
Seems running over with its weight of bliss. 



33 



34 Memories of Cuba 

This morning as I walked the garden path, 
The breath of violets, so pure, so sweet. 
Seemed the expression of this love of mine 
Which I can find no words to tell you of. 
I only hid my face among the leaves 
And blossoms, asking God to take 
My thankfulness, and, with it, make the earth 
More glad, the skies more blue, the world more 

fair. 
It seemed that while I prayed and thought of 

you, 
I felt the Christmas song the angels sang 
Resounding through my being, and my heart 
Sang love — love to the world, to God, to you. 

Montgomery, Ala., 19OO. 



Memories of Cuba 35 

O EYES SO BLUE AND TENDER 

OEYES, so blue and tender, 
In your soft depths, I see 
Unselfish heart-devotion 
And manly purity. 
O eyes, so blue and tender! 

eyes, so blue and tender, 

1 live in the clear shine 
Which tells me beyond doubting 
That all your love is mine, 

O eyes, so blue and tender! 

eyes^ so blue and tender. 
My world is sweet and true 

And all my days are happy days — 

1 find my world in you — 
O eyes, so blue and tender! 

O eyes, so blue and tender. 

Dark the hour would be 

That would dim your shining — 

Bitter hour for me — 

O eyes, so blue and tender! 

eyes, so blue and tender, 
So tender and so blue! 

1 find my hope of earth and heaven 
With the love-light shining through 
In eyes so blue and tender. 

** Forest Dale/' Burlington ^ Iowa, IQ^S- 



3^ Memories of Cuba 

TO K.K.P. 

THE spring is calling you, my darling, 
And the little early flowers, 
The south wind from across the valley, 
And the long bright hours. 
The hills, the hills are calling to you 
And the sweet new grass's sheen. 
The trees, don't you hear them calling, calling, 
From our wood-walk's sheltering green ? 

Our hearts are always calling you, my darling, 

The ebb and flow of tide 
Is not more constant than our loving. 

Is not more constant than our longing. 
Oh! The world could give us nothing, darling. 

Could we be side by side! 

Keota, Oklahoma, April 1907. 



MONTGOMERY SONGS 



A LOVE SONG 
To E. H. McC. 

FAR from thy pleasant walks, Mont- 
gomery, 
I fain, I fain would see thee once again. 
Far from thy gracious hills, Mont- 
gomery, 
No pleasure can I find in wood or plain. 

Far from thy breezes soft, Montgomery, 

I still can smell the breath of violet bloom; 

And from thy sunny walls, Montgomery, 

I think I smell the rose's rich perfume. 

Far from thy piny woods, Montgomery, 
I still see lilies blossom, side by side; 
And in my sweetest dreams, Montgomery, 
I pluck thy wild flowers for the Eastertide. 

Far from thine old St. Johns, Montgomery, 
Still in mine ears the chimes will rise and fall 
And in my heart, a peace, Montgomery, 
Which first I found within its holy wall. 

Far from thy stately grace, Montgomery, 
Manners and customs of a bygone day — 
I find no place to rest my heart, Montgomery, 
To ease its hurt, or charm mad haste away. 



39 



40 Memories of Cuba 

Far from thy pillared homes, Montgomery, 
Far from thy daughter whom I found so fair, 
I find no love, afar, Montgomery, 
Like to the love with which she blessed me 
there. 

No beauty can I find the wide world over 
But that which wakes a memory of thee. 
My heart, like "Rachel for her children crying," 
Longs for Montgomery, Montgomery. 

* Forest Dale," Burlington, Iowa, October, 1903. 



o 



Memories of Cuba 41 

A TOAST 

BONNY land of Dixie, 
How can you be so gay! 
How can your skies be soft and blue 
When I am far away! 



I thought your breezes whispered 
So musically low — 
I thought your flowers blossomed fair 
Because I loved you so. 

bonny land of Dixie, 

1 would not selfish be. 

I would not have you changed to all, — 
Who never changed to me. 

So while the north wind rushes 
About my northern home, 
I'll pledge you in a southern cup. 
Lovers of Dixie, Come! 

Hold high the fragrant julep 
And drink this toast with me — 
The fairest spot in Dixieland, 
Montgomery! 

Forest Dale," Burlington, Iowa, October 1903. 



42 Memories of Cuba 

THE BANJO BOY 

DOWN the street, on a damp or shiny 
morning, 
Comes the banjo boy, with happy 
smiling face; 
And his black cheeks shine, all soap and 
water scorning. 
And his white teeth gleam and glisten as he 
smiles with jaunty grace. 

What matter if it rains or the sun be a- 
shining, 
While your banjo still has a single good 
string ? 
What matter if you' re black ? Who would 
be a-pining 
While you own a whole banjo and a voice that 
will sing! 

What matter if your jacket seems to need 
a little mending ? 
You can dance while the warm blood 
rushes through your veins. 
You can tell it to your banjo, with loving 
touches sending 
You a comfort and a balm for all your miseries 
and pains. 



Memories of Cuba 43 

What matter if you're bad and are always 
a-sinning ? 
You know, of course, you're not expected 
to be white; 
And the good God above will approve each 
new beginning, 
And He'll certainly excuse you if you don't 
come out just right. 

So you' 11 sing and dance if the day be 
warm or chilling 
And you hug your old banjo and make 
it sweetly ring, 
While your young pulse throbs and your 
happy heart is thrilling; 
For your dark hand is master here. Here you 
are king! 

Montgomery, Alabama, 1901. 



44 Memories of Cuba 

EASTER EVEN 

IT'OW the wind rushes cold from the 
1 north and the east! To my ears 
M Comes the hiss of the snow and, with 
it, the wail that one hears 
In the autumn, when leaves lie a-dying and 

summer is done. 
It is Easter, they tell me, and spring; but no 

warmth from the sun 
Calls the sweet resurrection of bud and of leaf 

and of flower. 
The sun has gone south in his journey — too 

far — and his dower 
Of beauty and gladness and sunshine he leaves 

with the land 
Where hearts blossom forth like the spring- 
time, and ever green stand. 

my South, O my South! All my heart calls 

to you in its pain. 

1 can e'en shut my eyes — softly, so — I am 

with you again. 
In the woods of Montgomery, pines, tall and 

straight, how they rise 
From the dark mould beneath its pine needles. 

The soft sunny skies 
You can touch — in their nearness; they fold 

you and warm you like wine. 
And the flowers — all breathing out perfume; 

the whole wood a shrine 
Decked for feast day. The violets ,sway on 

their long slender stems; 



Memories of Cuba 45 

The scarlet verbenas unroll you a carpet of 

gems 
Bright as rubies; the wild purple heart's-ease 

two petals unfold 
All of velvet; and high, where the thick branches 

hold, 
Hangs the wild honeysuckle, a wonder of pink 

and of white 
And of yellow blooms, too, — dainty maids, 

softly tanned by the light; 
But alone in their beauty, without a green leaf, 

white and tall. 
Stand the pure Easter lilies — most gracious, 

most lovely of all. 
As the gleams of the setting sun light the dark 

wood, I can hear 
A song like a chant, far away — nearer now — 

then appear 
Lines of brown dusky faces, then suddenly 

comes in their place 
A procession of women and children of that 

happy race 
Whose cares are like dewdrops that melt with 

the rise of the sun. 
With soft step and stately, they come; for the 

long day is done 
And high on each head balanced lightly, a 

basket of flowers, 
Heaped and dropping, marks off all the length 

of the day's happy hours. 



46 Memories of Cuba 

O my South, O my South, all so warm, all so 

dear, all so gay! 
In spirit, I see you; in heart, I am with you 

to-day. 

*' Forest Dale'* Burlington, Iowa, 1903 



A 



A SONG FOR THE NAVY 

LAUGH and a shout and a song, 
my lads, 
As over the ocean we toss away! 
The leap and the rock, the plunge 
and the shock 
Of the ship is a glorious play, my lads, 
Is wild and glorious play. 

A laugh for the joy of the life, my lads — 
A life like the change of the sea and sky! 

Like Vikings we sail in the teeth of the gale. 
We laugh and the winds reply, my lads. 
In laughter, the winds reply. 

A shout for the battle that's on, my lads. 

And a cheer for Columbia, strong and free! 

A shout for the fray that wins the day 

And proves her queen o'the sea, my lads, 
Queen o' the land and sea! 

A song for the mother land, my lads — 

The mother land of our loyal love! 
We boast her the pride of the ocean side. 
With old glory waving above, my lads. 
Old glory forever above! 



49 



50 Memories of Cuba 

Then a laugh and a shout and a song, my lads, 
A thought for home and a hand for the fight! 

A life indeed is the life we lead 

For Columbia, God, and the right, my lads — 
Columbia, God, and right! 

Keota, Oklahoma 1907. 



Memories of Cuba 51 

A SONNET 

THE wind sighed in the pine tree all 
night long 
Like a tired spirit in some deep distress; 
And through my heart, sighed, in 
dull bitterness, 
A thousand fancies. An uncounted throng 
They came — the sorrows that to them belong 
Whose loved ones suffer while they powerless 
Must stand, nor voice their helplessness 
To the wide world that sees nor right nor wrong. 

Only the agony and wakeful night 
And sickened brain to meet the coming day! 
Not for my cares nor for myself I pray 
As now I kneel. But, with the dying light, 
I lift my night prayer to the throne above 
For those I love, O God, for those I love! 

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 1903. 



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